Morning Objections
by Shar-Frael
Summary: A young Estel hopes his covers will protect him. Fluffy Elrond and child Aragorn.


FF  
  
Lying, snuggled inside the blankets, Estel was loath to move. He couldn't imagine anything that might possibly bring him more bliss at this moment, than his wonderfully warm bed. As the sunlight beamed through his window, he pulled the sheets ever higher, until finally, with his head covered, he could pretend it was still night-time and he didn't have to rise.  
  
He, of course, hadn't counted on his father's determination.   
  
"Good morning Estel," came the soft voice.   
  
Even at his young age, the human boy could recount many curses to utter at this moment. Perhaps, he was too young to understand their complete meaning, but he was old enough to realise the consequences should he speak them in his father's presence. So, instead, he settled for a groan and tried to further camouflage himself in his huge bed.   
  
"Rise, my son, it is time for you to wake."   
  
The boy groaned again, recognising the slight amusement in his father's tone. He listened as Elrond fussed around in his room. His wardrobe opened, and closed; the book he had been reading tidied away. He could hear the slight sound of water, and knew his morning bath had been prepared. He groaned once more, but inwardly this time. He didn't understand why he had to bathe every single morning! Surely, he didn't get that dirty in his lessons.   
  
"Estel, come, your bath is ready."  
  
He readily swore this time, under his breath of course, but the sentiment was the same. He didn't want to get up. A strange reaction for such a lively child as he, but true on this of all days. He had in the timeless way of all children concluded that if he didn't get out of bed, then the day simply wouldn't happen, and he could carry on as normal tomorrow. The blankets he had cacooned himself in were suddenly, if gently, pulled away.  
  
"Ada!" He whined, managing to emphasise each letter in his disgust.   
  
"Child, you have a busy day ahead of you," was his father's reply.   
  
Estel's anxiety rose tenfold at that remark. He was at least hoping that if he couldn't stay in bed all day, then everyone else had forgotten today's tasks. He should have known his father would remember, he seemed to recall everything, whether Estel wanted him to or not. The desperate young boy fell back on his last resort.   
  
"Ada, I don't feel well," the guilt the child felt while speaking, resonated his voice in a way that made his claim almost believable.   
  
A cool hand appeared from above him somewhere and rested on his forehead. Estel concentrated as hard as he could to send all the heat in his body up to his forehead. He tried to imagine the blood inside of him whirling to his command and draining the hot places, such as the base of his back, and relocating it to his head. He pictured a blazing fire in his mind; something similar to the one he had seen in the Hall of Fire perhaps. Only stronger, he thought gleefully.   
  
"You do not have a fever, Estel," his father's words brought him out of his revelry. "Does a certain part of you feel unwell?"  
  
The concern he heard from the Lord of Imladris made him feel the guilt more strongly. He muffled a sigh, and sat up quickly.   
  
"It's just nerves Ada. I am well." He muttered, knowing his father would hear him.   
  
Elrond sat slowly on the edge of Estel's bed. The child looked up at him, trying to attain that passive Elven face he had seen so much of. His father raised an eyebrow and Estel knew that he would now have to tell him everything. Either that, or lie, he thought. Yet, his foster father seemed to spot his beautifully crafted tales instantly, and the boy knew better than to even try.  
  
"I don't want to do this, this...dancing practise!" Estel said finally. His arms crossed over his chest and the beginning of a pout forming.   
  
A laugh from his beloved father made him look up, surprise etched on his young face. He frowned, and the pout that had begun, spread further across his features. He was unsure what had prompted his father's laughter, but he felt insulted, and so produced his best withering glare.   
  
"Oh Estel, do not look at me so. I am just a little unsure as to the problem." Elrond said, stroking the child's dark hair, trying to soothe him.   
  
Refusing to relax his 'battle-ready' stance, Estel rolled his eyes. "Dancing is for girls! And I am a boy!"  
  
"Indeed you are, my son. Yet you have seen many males dancing in the Hall of Fire, have you not?"   
  
Estel blinked, remembering indeed the many male elves, respected warriors even, that had danced in the Hall. His thoughts turned to the way they had smiled, and how the ladies they were dancing with had laughed with delight. It did seem like a merry thing to do, when he thought a little hard about it. Still, he was sure he could dance quite well without all this silly practising. The warriors had after all, and he was certain he could do it just as well as they did.   
  
"I bet they learnt it all when sword-fighting." Estel decided  
  
His father smiled down at him, rising swiftly from his seat. "It is more likely the other way around."  
  
Estel uncrossed his arms at this revelation. "The dancing helped them with their sword training?" He couldn't quite believe it, but he knew his father would not lie to him.   
  
"Of course, child," Elrond replied. " The dancing helps you to feel your body, and to improve the movements of it. All this is useful in your training."  
  
He looked up into his father's eyes, trying to judge what his elder's words meant. His brow unfurled and at last he gave into the realisation that the dancing lessons would commence this day. The Lord of Imladris had decreed it, so little Estel would learn to dance.   
  
As he moved to the side of his bed, the boy dared one last comment on the matter. "I am not wearing flowers in my hair, Ada!"  
  
Elrond chuckled once more, and lead his son towards the dreaded bath. 


End file.
